A Friend in Sorrow
by NeverIsTheEternal
Summary: One-Shot. What if Margaret had confided the truth of Frederick to Mr. Thornton on the fateful afternoon of her meeting with Inspector George Watson? A sin forgiven gives her a friend through sorrow. Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters or the world created for this story by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell.


**_This story is a one-shot and is a product of my "what-if" imagination. What if Margaret was not left alone on the evening that she met with George Watson regarding Leonards' death? The first paragraph is directly from the novel and while the characterization might seem movie inspired, the entire story is novel based. I also indulged in resolving some of my issues with how the story ended. This is my first fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy it, but please be kind even in criticism. I'm not familiar with this style of writing and this has been a fun experiment. If I've done well, I might continue the story beyond the novel. _**

_And all this while, Margaret lay as still and white as death on the study floor! She had sunk under her burden. It had been heavy in weight and long carried; and she had been very meek and patient, till all at once her faith had given way, and she had groped in vain for help! There was a pitiful contraction of suffering upon her beautiful brows, although there was no other sign of consciousness remaining. The mouth-a little while ago, so sullenly projected in defiance-was relaxed and livid._

This was how Dixon found her. She had been hovering near, anxious for news and heard Margaret show the police officer out and reenter the study; felt the suspicious thud that followed was sufficient cause for concern and was undaunted by a locked door. Dismayed at the spectacle of her mistress prostrate on the floor, she tried in vain to revive her. The only response was a feverishly whispered name sounding so full of heartrending pain that Dixon's only object became to find the owner, and with a calm she did not think capable of portraying, entered the drawing room and made a hasty bow to the occupants.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but Mr. Thornton's presence is requested on a matter of some urgency. I am assured the matter will not take long, Mr Hale. May I bring you some tea while you wait?"

Mr. Hale moved his chair closer to the fire and requested Margaret's attention, to which Dixon replied that she was still occupied and would undoubtedly be along shortly. Mr Thornton unfolded himself gracefully from his chair and followed Dixon. He was irritated at being disturbed, did not know who would dare visit him here, and then was much perplexed as her entire manner changed upon closing the door.

"I did not know what else to do, sir. She said your name and I would rather throw myself under a stampeding horse than disturb Mr Hale with this. He is so reliant on her strength that he would be undone with this display!"

He was impatient and concerned with Dixon's vague explanation until he was shown into the drawing room where he beheld Margaret, pale and trembling, attempting to push herself off the floor. As he attempted to assist her, a faint blush heated her cheeks - not in a becoming way, for it only heightened her pallor and gave the death white paleness a grayish hue. The dizzy haze overwhelmed her again and, giving up trying to restore her on the floor, he carried her to the nearest chair.

He tried not to be alarmed at how much lighter she was since the last time he was blessed with the slight burden of her frame in his arms. He tried not to think of a last time, or the consequences. He tried not to think of her in the arms of another man, because even now, in his soul, he felt that she belonged where she was - in his arms - next to his heart. Dixon rushed in with a handkerchief and bowl of water and he neatly removed the bowl from her hands and bathed Margaret's face.

"You've done right, Ms. Dixon," He said, forcing warmth past the impatience in his voice. She looked indignant at his abrupt removal of the bowl, but her expression cleared at his tone. "Please see to Mr. Hale. It would not do for him to walk in here and see her thus and I thank you for your discretion."

"It's what the Missus would have wanted, anyhow. If you want to thank me for my discretion, let me know the worst of Master Frederick, if you please, sir? I cannot see her this poorly unless it were news of him of a bad nature." And she bustled from the room to finish the tea before he could ask who this Master Frederick was.

"Dearest, dearest Margaret," he whispered urgently, "what has happened?"

If Dixon was terrified of news regarding Master Frederick then Mr. Thornton's thoughts were not far behind as jealousy made his heart stutter in fear of hearing confirmation of her lover. Perhaps the young gentleman had abandoned her. He wanted to tell himself that it was the least she deserved for the mortification of rejecting him, but he could not feel satisfaction at a vague possibility. Everything within him knew that she would not be faint of heart over a lover's quarrel.

At length, Margaret's eyes fluttered open and she gazed at Mr Thornton's pale and anxious face, wondering for a moment if she were dreaming. Words were difficult to come but she managed at last to hoarsely mutter that all was well and there was no cause for concern. He hushed her by an assurance that her father was not present and they were quite alone. She immediately clutched his hand in a vice-like grip and closed her eyes against the burn of shame and tears.

"Then pray, do not speak until I have finished, Mr Thornton. This is a matter of grave importance and as I respect your good opinion and wish to have it, I fear that I must now trust you with someone's life - a life I value more dearly than my own- and yet, because I cherish his life, I cannot debase my own for the sake of it!"

"Margaret!" His tone was filled with painful dismay at this speech, but she gripped his hand painfully and entreated him once more for his silence. If she heard the cry of pain in the utterance of her name, she was too distressed to acknowledge it.

"Please, I will answer for everything but I must have your silence! If not for me, than for the love and respect you hold for my poor father. I have done a crime, Mr Thornton! A crime in the eyes of man and God! I lied to an officer of the law to save a man who cannot be saved while he remains in England. Only by stealth and secrecy can he escape from a land which death and love has brought him so close to danger and I have had no word if he is safely away yet."

And with the tears spilled the sad tale of her brother and the death of Leonards. It was some minutes before Mr Thornton's jealous heart acknowledged that she spoke of a brother and not some strange gentleman lover who enticed her out for romance on the very cusp of her mother's death. He recalled vividly the tender familiarity between Margaret and the young man and interrupted her only once.

His voice was rough and tremulous as he gasped in painful relief, "Dear God, it was your brother!"

"Yes," said she, opening her eyes to look at the man kneeling beside her. "Poor Frederick! If he is discovered he will be hanged and I cannot bear it! I can hardly bear losing my dear mother and watching father waste away in his guilt and suffering."

His brow furrowed in confusion at her confession. "Why am I only just learning of this, Margaret? Why hasn't Mr. Hale mentioned it?"

Impatient with the weakness of her emotions she suddenly threw off the hand she had held so tightly and attempted to rise, ignoring the blinding dizziness that followed the swift upward movement and nearly overbalancing her attentive listener. She succeeded and began to savagely pace the room, her words quiet but urgent.

"Because you're a magistrate!" She whispered harshly - almost accusingly. "He did not wish to impose upon the loyalty of your friendship by compromising your position with the law. Oh, I wish that I had not told you! I trust you to keep the secret, but oh such a secret to keep, and I've told this horrible lie! As a magistrate, you would surely know the truth soon and I wanted you to hear it from me. But I cannot trust to the truth until I hear from Fred that he is safe. I can only trust in you, to be a friend to my father if the worst is to happen and God calls me to account for being false."

A thousand questions ran through his head at hearing this news but he closed his mind against them as a fierce joy raced through his blood. She trusted him! In her distress, she had called for him! He set the bowl of water aside and rose to his feet, standing tall above her, taking her shoulders in his hands and stilling her restless movement as he demanded, "And who is to be a friend to you, love?"

The sad confusion that filled her eyes at his words made his heart stumble in his chest. He was not unaware of the death of the Union leader's daughter to whom Margaret had formed an attachment. He thought of that, and the death of her mother, the failing weakness of her father, and now this trouble with her brother and felt that she was doing remarkably well in spite of the faint which overwhelmed her this evening. She was ever thinking of everyone but herself and he was filled with shame that he had added the burden of his love to all she had to carry. He regretted every cold word when she needed his warm compassion and friendship. How could a woman think on love when her very soul was filled to the brim with sorrow?

"Forget cold words and my unpardonable insolence, Miss Hale," he said tenderly. "Wash your tears in peace while I attend your father and know that your confidence was not misplaced. I would like to be your friend, if you would allow it - to have you as secure in my loyalties as your father is."

"And yet, I am Miss Hale once more," she muttered, dropping wearily back to the chair and taking the cloth from the bowl of water to wipe her face.

More than anything, he wanted to know what she meant by that, but he could not reply for Dixon had suddenly returned with a cup of tea for Margaret. The corner of his mouth turned up at the woman's demand for information, seeming to withhold the teacup until she had an answer. He relieved Dixon of the cup, passed it to the wide eyed young woman, and curtly answered the question.

"There is no news of your Master Frederick at the present."

Dixon puffed up like an angry cat. "Then why was she in a dead faint in the floor?"

"I'm not a doctor, but I dare say it is exhaustion of the spirit. I know of no woman except perhaps my own mother who could bear such burdens as these; gracefully, uncomplainingly, and in the depth of such loneliness as Miss Hale. My mother would have me to bear her up, but who for Miss Hale? Who helps her and who adds to the burdens on her heart?" His eyes sought Margaret's as he added, very quietly, "I fear that I myself am guilty of adding to her troubles."

A blush stole across her cheeks at the intimacy of the comment, this time adding a healthy glow to her complexion and a brightness to her eyes. She looked intently at the floor as she replied, "Nonsense, Mr Thornton. You have been a devoted friend and have eased so many troubles for my parents and myself that I feel we have burdened you! I would not consider the occasional dispute between two passionate and opinionated people a burden, for my part."

This last exchange was lost on Dixon, who was filled with a shame that only someone with a commanding personality such as Mr Thornton's could instill. She felt keenly that his words to her were a personal rebuke and she resolved to do better by the remaining Hales in his eyes.

Margaret rose gracefully to prove her recovery and extended her hand. His eyes glanced between her hand and her face for a moment and he raised an eyebrow. When she flicked her eyes at Dixon, he was suddenly aware that, while the servant knew some family secrets, she did not know all and their conversation must be postponed. A tiny smiled curled the corner of his mouth as he grasped her hand, allowing his fingers to graze her palm when he withdrew it.

Mr Thornton's expression was grave as he left the drawing room for she had demanded his silence and then been forced to leave him with many questions, but that strange joy still pulsed through his heart. "It was her brother!"

Departing the residence a short time after Margaret had put herself to rights and was able to wait upon her father, he encountered the police officer, George Watson, outside the door. It was a matter of little consequence to postpone Watson's second interrogation of Miss Hale with a promise to look into the matter himself. An inquiry to the coroner determined that the estranged brother had not been primarily responsible for the death of Leonards and Mr Thornton felt no qualms of conscience, in light of truth and evidence, in protecting the Hale family from the embarrassment of an inquest.

His mother was an entirely different matter as she thrust upon him the news of Margaret's impropriety the moment he walked into the drawing room and took off his hat.

"You pay entirely too much attention to the gossip of servants, Mother." He tried to dissuade her with those words but her heart was too set against Margaret to heed him. Finally, he had to resort to telling her some of what he knew in fear that she would inadvertently undo his efforts to subdue the situation.

"I saw her that evening, Mother." There was a tightness about his mouth that spoke of great irritation and Mrs Thornton felt shameful regret at his words. "She was accompanying a close relation to the train station who had been to see the ailing Mrs Hale. It is entirely presumptuous of anyone to assume, because they chose to move here above any place else in England, that they are without friends and family. By this time, I would hope that Miss Hale's character would absolve her from any assumptions of unmaidenliness!"

He colored faintly at these words, trusting to the candle-light to hide the reaction, for he felt the shame of that prejudice born in the jealousy of his heart. Mrs Thornton did notice but believed it to be indignation which flushed his cheeks for it was a common reaction when his emotions were stirred. She was ashamed of her own assumptions in light of her son's news that she could believe the worst in, until then, the exemplary compassion of a responsible daughter.

In an attempt to calm him, she smiled ruefully and said, "Her mother informed me once that Margaret Hale never does wrong."

If possible, her son's mouth tightened further. "Oh, I'm sure that Miss Hale can sin with the best of us, but she will always have a reason and that reason will be so pure as to make the sin itself saintly."

Time passed, but it did not give Mr Thornton a chance to freely speak to Margaret. There remained a foundation of secrecy to their tentative friendship which filled the rare moments of their interaction with pregnant meaning. The growing sorrow in her eyes at every meeting made him forebear requesting another private council with her. It was through Mr Hale that he learned of the deaths of Mr and Mrs Boucher.

He knew that she had a charitable soul toward the workers of Milton, had even gone so far as to make friends with some who had given him and other manufacturers great trouble. He was not aware that Boucher, the mad fool in the riot that almost killed her, was among those she was inclined to pity. The sorrow she felt at his death startled him, and it wasn't until he learned of Higgins and the orphaned Boucher children that he began to understand. It seemed that one understanding led to another until he almost felt that he no longer had any questions to put to her for her conduct, that her character eventually answered for all of her actions - and even some of her prejudices.

Margaret had entreated him to grant an interview with Nicholas Higgins. He knew of him as a Union troublemaker, but found in him all of the virtues to be admired in a man; strength, intelligence, and a fierce devotion to those who valued his time and efforts. Through Higgins, he discovered that her judgments had been accurate that many grievances between masters and their men were miscommunications. Fair treatment and loyalty began with negotiation. They were both devoted to Miss Hale; silently acknowledging this fact and honoring it when hard feelings might have made lesser men walk away with their resentments in destructive anger.

Time passed, but it did not give Miss Hale a moment to admire the bud of affection growing in the seeming wasteland of grief in her heart. She could not admire it, but she was aware of it. She felt the roots wind around her heart each time his presence shed a ray of light on the darkness, his smile and tender sympathy relaxing a seeming cramp in her heart to allow her a few breaths of fresh air before swimming down into her grief once more.

Some days she felt she would drown in her grief like Boucher in the river for Mr Hale died suddenly and unexpectedly. Mr Thornton remained a devoted friend even in the face of the failure of his business, which he kept as quiet as possible until there was nothing else but for it to be known. Margaret and Mr Hale were in his confidence on the matter long before he even informed his mother, hoping for the best, expecting the worst, but never expecting the death of so dear a friend. He attended the funeral, aided in the sell of the estate, and found a renter for the house. Margaret was gone to London by this time and he had no hope of ever seeing her again. Their parting had been cordial and warm, the parting of friends, and he hid well the pain that she was taking his heart with her and leaving none of herself behind.

His determination to deny his heart's desire in the face of being what she needed made him imperceptive to the change in her heart so he was unaware that she left as great a part of herself in Milton as she took away of him. She was restless and unhappy in London. Society was awkward and uninteresting. The people dull and the days endless. She found happiness in the devoted friendship of Mr Bell, but even that contentment was short and bittersweet for he passed away within a few short months of her father, leaving her the heiress of his fortune... and the landlord of John Thornton.

Mr Thornton, so quiet and grave in the face of his ruin. Hearing of the closure of Marlborough Mills was as painful to her as the death of Mr Bell; even though she had been expecting it, the reality of the failure was still a blow. She was so incredibly tired of death, and ruin, and suffering. She was tired of London society and the attention she suddenly received from men who would ignore her pretty looks until she had a fortune to go with them, shallow men with no qualities that she admired. There was only one man's affections she desired, and against him she compared all men and found them completely wanting. This extended to the renewed attentions of her cousin-in-law Henry Lennox, whom she firmly discouraged, but whom had a claim on her respect. In the end, she confided in him the nature of her affections but she felt that he deserved the truth and was exhausted with Edith's vain attempts at matchmaking.

Mr Lennox proved to be more worthy than she took for granted, for not two days passed before he presented her with Mr Thornton at a dinner party and proposed a meeting the next day to go over his lease and the legal repercussions of him vacating the place. The thought of the meeting was the only thing that made Margaret sit quietly through the dinner party. It had been several months since she had seen him, had only received two letters from him and knew more of matters from Nicholas Higgins, such as the dining hall and Mary's employment there which caused such a feeling of devoted affection to swell in Margaret's very soul that she almost threw propriety to the wind for the next train to Milton. And yet, here they were in London, and Mr Thornton never looked at her which gave her the leisure to look at him, and the more she looked, the less she liked what she saw.

He had lost weight, new lines of care formed around his eyes and mouth, a touch of gray highlighted his temples, but then he'd smile as he used to when talking to her father and her heart would catch in her throat. She longed to go to him. To smooth away those lines with her fingertips. To make that smile a permanent fixture. His eyes instinctively sought hers at one point, as they used to, and she tried to return the smile but he seemed to catch the edge of her concern and the light of his amusement was replaced by a darkening pensive compression of the lips. He became distant and was silent for the rest of the meal unless directly spoken to.

She was sitting with Henry Lennox when he approached her later in the evening and informed her that Higgins had expressed a wish of several men to work for him again if he was ever in a position to take on employees. She managed the smile she had attempted at dinner, expressing her delight in the sentiment.

"There was little sentimentality to it, Miss Hale," he replied, addressing Mr Lennox as well. "My men and I were part of the great machine of manufacturing. A machine cannot function unless all of the parts work in harmony. You exposed the flaw in our design, but unfortunately the flaw will remain for I was too late in understanding how to repair it. Perhaps, if God wills, some day I may be given another chance."

There was a tender sympathy in her eyes as she said, "If God wills, may all of the flaws in the machine of human interaction be repaired by second chances."

If his heart understood her meaning, he ignored it for wishful thinking and went to his apartment cherishing the sight of her loveliness and steeling himself for the meeting to come so early the next morning. The meeting which was already upon him as he stood, after a sleepless night, in the drawing room of Captain Lennox. He did not want to meet her as a failure, to see pity instead of respect in her eyes, to see any intimacy of regard between her and Mr. Lennox, whom rumor said she would soon marry, who never arrived as he found himself alone with her.

She was nervous. He watched her hands shake as she shuffled papers on a desk, muttering her apologies for the absence of the lawyer whom he despised, who was obviously responsible for her reluctance to meet his eyes.

"Are we not still friends, Miss Hale?" He inquired, hoping to calm her, only making her tremble harder as she lost control of a handful of papers, several of which fluttered to the floor. They both pounced upon them and he was close enough to hear her mutter the word "friends" like a curse. Crouched upon the flowered carpet, their hands met on a page of the proposal, he glanced at the words, was taken in by them, read them with the quickness of familiarity with such documents. He glanced up, found her eyes tear-filled and emotional.

"Margaret!"

She closed her eyes as the tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. "I cannot bear the thought of Marlborough Mills failing. And I have all of this money, too much, and if you took it, it would help you, and me, and your men. You must understand?"

He dropped his grasp on the paper and she quickly looked to it and the others, trying without success to put them back in order. He continued to stare at her.

"Is this another moment like the day of the riot?" His voice trembled between the cold edge of anger and the hot breath of passionate hope. "Are you throwing yourself once more between me and the workers, trying to save us from ourselves? Is this something that you would do for Higgins were he here instead of me?" Tears had now gathered in his eyes from the emotion and she stared at him with her own startled eyes and left the papers to their fate on the floor. She was silent. "Answer me, Margaret! I want to hope that your heart has changed toward me, but I am not a hopeful man. That deceitful emotion has wounded me greatly and once more may prove fatal."

"No," she breathed, undone by the tears and painful love shining in his eyes; taking his hand suddenly, firmly, in hers and clutching it to her chest where he felt her heart pound so violently against the back of his fingers that he was surprised he could not hear it, "I believe that you are my only consideration in this decision."

"Why?" He demanded, edging closer to her; his free hand finding her waist to capture her closer in fear that she would flee. "Why am I your only consideration?"

He knew what he wanted to hear. She did not know what to say. Suddenly she could not meet his eyes, glanced down at their joined hands clutched against her heart. "Oh, Mr Thornton, can't you see? I am so tired of death and this is just one more loss that adds to my grief! I have the power to fix it, if you will let me. I cannot bear the thought of that empty, silent place, dead without you bringing life to it as though you were its very heart!"

He lowered his face until his forehead rested against hers. "Yes, loss seems to be your constant companion. But Margaret, could you not have loved me? Can you not try to love me still?"

Her free hand came up, entwined around his neck in a similar manner to the day of the riot. She stared intently at the black cotton of his cravat as she murmured, so quietly he had to strain to hear. "How can I do anything but love you?"

"Then marry me," he murmured just as quietly.

She raised her eyes to his, her fingers unconsciously caressing the hair at the back of his neck, sending delightful tremors through his entire body. "On the day the machines of Marlborough Mills run again, I will marry you."

His expression made her breath catch in her chest as a tiny smile curled the edge of his mouth. He pulled her even closer and whispered against her lips, "I agree to your business proposition, Margaret Hale. Just tell me where to sign."


End file.
